Friday, 20 September 2013

Interest Only

all square within the confines
of the cask conditioned discothèque
from without my fitful anti-sleep
came the wasps 
and creeping hands 
that spidered across the ceiling and floor
unsure of the etiquette for trembling
yet, for three pages, I was
in the clear, gone, beyond the provincial
boots of leaden grit, though by the fourth
the interest had waned even while that 
was all that remained


friends of friends and an orgy of mutuality
every one ripe for the fucking until we greedily
eat our own tails 
I find myself running low on chemistry 
with so little reaction left inside of me
the water around the plug hole no longer spins, 
it only falls

Thursday, 5 September 2013

written in the dirt

this autumn morning
winter’s aperitif
is served on the rocks
shaken and stirring

come downpour now
unleash your jotting scribe and
cast the showery runes of fables untried
forge scripts along our droughty lanes
of songs for all that yet remain
or wash away those pages brown,
whelm witness to our temporal sway

we’ll listen to the eager earth
as she swallows every dripping word
of this crisp & chilled September cleansing,
for she has such a slumberous summer thirst

Tuesday, 3 September 2013

shelter ’76 (redux)

the rain drums his fingers impatiently
along the length of a blue dusting lung busting puckered roof
and fingers the gaps where once there was glass
wire veined, designed to resist
a boot, a fist a flick of the wristy bone
trebuchet yet now carpeting this concrete nest
of surly youth in a crystal expression of boys
when they are bored
nowhere better then than this Park Drive smokeasy
for the bad ones who will always try their best,
after mocking words and a quart of cider,
to cop a feel of the big bird’s breasts